Some Other Beginning
by m.jules
Summary: Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.  Alphonse Elric helps Roy Mustang face life after more tragedy than one man should endure and finds something for himself in the process.
1. Entanglements

**Title:** Some Other Beginning  
**Author:** m.jules  
**Rating:** Hard R for the whole thing  
**Summary:** "Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." Alphonse Elric helps Roy Mustang face life after more tragedy than one man should endure and finds something for himself in the process.  
**Pairing:** mainly Roy/Al, with hints of and references to others. (Including, but not limited to, Ed/Winry, Al/Paninya, Gracia/Maes/Roy/Riza, and Al/Elicia.)  
**Disclaimer:** Arakawa would KILL me. I bow low in supplication.  
**Warnings:** Slash, het, multiples, sex, violence, character death... did I miss anything?  
**Author's Notes:** This was meant to be "The Story That Proves In-Character Roy/Al Is Possible." Don't know if it worked. For my **7stages** claim, prompt "New every morning."

Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ to **cornerofmadness** and **evillittledog** who have beta'd every chapter without complaint even though this isn't their pairing. To **drfiredog** for enduring me chattering about it, and to all my fellow Roy/Al 'shippers whose excitement about the possibility of this story kept me writing on it.

This is manga-verse, with every chapter yet released and scanlated as fair game for spoilers and many liberties taken as far as speculation about the future. If you want to know how Al got his body back, Yet Gentle and The Frost of Awakening can be considered my default answer to that question for now at least.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Alphonse. How are you?" Gracia Hughes kissed his cheek as he entered the house and he returned the gesture politely. She offered to take his coat and though he almost refused – _I have to get back_ on the tip of his tongue – his manners won out and he shrugged out of the garment, handing it to her to hang up on the rack. He could always put it back on, after all, and he didn't want Gracia to think he was rushing out.

"I'm doing well, thank you," Al responded, though a trace of exhaustion tinted the rich tenor of his voice. He knew the strain showed on his face, too – he'd seen it in the mirror just that morning, in fact, the way his eyes were slightly duller than normal – but he gave her a friendly, cheerful smile and followed her into the living room. "How are you and Elicia?"

Gracia gestured to the sofa, indicating that Al should take a seat, and seated herself in an an armchair at the end of the coffee table where they could easily see each other as they talked. "We're just fine, Alphonse; thank you for asking." There was tiredness to her smile, too, and a new degree of sorrow that Al hated to see there.

He let his eyes scan the room, smiling at the new picture of Elicia that graced the mantle of the fireplace. The eight-year-old had grown unnaturally serious after her father's death some five years earlier, but the photograph captured her with a rare, unguarded smile as she regarded a yellow butterfly that had come to rest on a head of cabbage in her little vegetable garden.

"Is she making any progress?" he asked Gracia as she began to pour tea from the service she'd had waiting on the table.

"She has her days," Gracia nodded, setting the teapot back down on the tray and holding the cup and saucer. "Milk? Sugar?"

"One sugar, please," Al accepted graciously, and she dropped in the requested cube of sugar before she handed over the cup, a small spoon resting on the saucer.

As Al stirred, Gracia began preparing her own tea. "Speaking of progress," Gracia began smoothly. "I wanted to ask you how Roy's been."

Al took a deep breath, watching the tiny eddies in his tea as he thought of how best to answer the inquiry. "He's… well, he has his days," he said wryly, borrowing her phrase. "Though lately the good ones seem to be more frequent. He still misses her, though. Very much."

Gracia nodded, the sorrow in her eyes deepening visibly as she sat back in her chair, tea in hand. "Yes, I would imagine so," she murmured. "We all do."

Al remembered with a jolt that two days later would mark ten months since Riza Hawkeye had died in the hospital of complications from pneumonia. The onset of the disease had been swift and acute, and though she'd been hospitalized and Roy had called for a healing alchemist from Xing, she had lost the battle before the healer had so much as set foot in Central.

"Yes," Al said sadly, his fingers tracing lightly over the enamel-coated handle of his cup. "We do."

Gracia seemed to shake herself, emerging from her heavy thoughts as she regarded Al over the edge of her teacup. "But you say Roy's doing better?"

Al followed her cue and left the direct words of Riza's death unspoken, nodding in answer to her question. "As I said, he still has his bad days, but I'm not hiding the kitchen knives from him anymore." There was a hint of levity to his voice, but it disappeared as he added, "We still don't have a gun in the house, though."

When it had become apparent that Riza was irretrievably gone, Roy's anguish had overpowered him. Gracia had called Ed and Al from the hospital to tell them the news, and they'd gone up immediately. Gracia had been there, of course, with Elicia; Havoc and the rest of Mustang's former subordinates were there, and Winry had informed them that she was boarding the next train out from Rush Valley.

Al remembered thinking how impossible it was that Hawkeye, with all her strength and vitality and brilliance, had been struck down by something as simple as an illness. After a while, someone -- had it been him or Ed? -- had noticed that Roy wasn't there and had gone looking for him, concerned. They'd found him outside the hospital, by the car he'd driven Hawkeye in, with his gun in his mouth, finger already tightening on the trigger.

Al had grabbed him from behind as Ed wrestled the gun out of his mouth. There had been an ugly struggle, and Al remembered his horror at the blood that ran from Mustang's lips as he and Ed abused them with the barrel of the gun before Ed finally managed to jerk the gun down and away from Roy's face. That was nothing compared to his panic when the gun had gone off and Roy had screamed in pain. Al remembered the sensation of warm blood and tiny fragments of flesh and bone splattering his forearms, remembered the way Roy arched in his arms and then collapsed, writhing in agony.

The bullet had gone straight through Roy's tibia, just under his knee cap, shattering the bone. Al shuddered, remembering the haze of Roy's surgery, the recovery time, the suicide watch they'd put him under. The watch that Al was continuing at Roy's home as he helped him rehabilitate. Shaking himself from the grim memories, he sat up a little straighter and gave Gracia a smile.

"But he's smiling more, now. He's still mostly bad-tempered, but he doesn't snarl at me. Brother, yes. Me, no." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I'm sure he would like to see you and Elicia, if you ever wanted to visit."

Gracia shook her head, a subtle sadness playing over her features. "I don't think he's quite ready for me to visit yet." She smiled. "But after he's had a little more time, I would be glad to visit him."

Al gave her a confused look. "It's true he tires pretty quickly, but he has been having a few visitors lately. In fact, Havoc is keeping him company right now."

Gracia smiled a bit distantly, a hesitation in the set of her shoulders that made him wonder. "Al," she began slowly, setting her teacup and saucer down on the table. "There's something ... I think I should tell you."

Al's posture changed subtly, his eyes widening just a bit in anticipation of whatever secret Gracia was about to share. He watched as she got up from her chair and went to a high cabinet over the bookshelf, taking a little silver key from the fireplace mantle to unlock it. She pulled out a thick book that, upon second glance, Al could tell was a photo album. She rested it in his lap and he looked up at her in surprise.

She settled back in her chair and gestured for him to look through it. As he opened the cover, she began to speak. 

"Not very many people know this, but Roy and Riza were more than friends to Maes and myself."

On the first page was a picture of Maes and Gracia with Roy and Riza, all of them laughing and happy. Al felt his throat tighten at the photograph -- to see Maes and Riza, who were now gone, looking so alive... and to see how happy Gracia and Roy were, two people who were now shaded with sorrow, filled him with something bittersweet and indescribable.

"We were lovers."

Al's head snapped up, his gaze fixing on Gracia. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes focused somewhere far inward, and Al turned the page. He smiled at the picture of Maes and Gracia kissing chastely, a sweet, romantic moment between husband and wife. His eyes widened a little at the next picture, Maes' mouth pressed just as sweetly against Riza's. Heat began creeping to his cheeks at the images of an illicit arrangement, though there was so much love between the subjects of the photos it was almost tangible, even now. His first impulse was to close the album, already feeling like an intruder on what had been very private, personal moments, but Gracia obviously had some reason for sharing these things with him, even if he couldn't begin to guess what that was.

"Even before Maes and I were married, the four of us fell in together. It was strange at first, awkward, even painful in the beginning while we worked out the little issues of jealousy bound to arise in such a situation. But we fell in love. All of us."

As Gracia spoke, Al continued turning the pages. It took a little effort but eventually he began seeing past the scintillating nature of the images to the humanity of the emotions that had been captured: Roy and Maes locked in a passionate kiss, fingers twisting through hair, eyes closed in a sweet kind of longing; Riza and Gracia gazing at one another, hands twined together and caressing over bare shoulders and arms; on and on like this.

"When Maes..." she stopped, choking for a moment with the fresh pain of the memory, then cleared her throat and began again, quieter. "When Maes died, it made it difficult. It was harder for them to come here, Roy especially, because we were constantly reminded that we were not whole. A vibrant part of us was missing." She stopped, blinking rapidly before she took a deep breath and continued. "But we still loved each other, and we were not willing to lose what we had left."

Al, feeling he'd gotten what he needed from the photo album and that to look any further would be in bad taste, flipped back to the first page and stared again at the heart-wrenching picture. He sensed it was easier for Gracia to tell her story without his eyes on her, so he studied the expressions, lingering the longest on Roy's. He lived with the man now, saw almost every emotion that crossed his face, and in the last ten months he'd seen only pale shadows of happiness. Somehow, seeing him here, younger and more carefree, eased Al's burden and reminded him that Roy hadn't always been so grim.

"Now..." Gracia shrugged helplessly, twisting her hands together in her lap. "I still love Roy, but we were only lovers because we loved the same people. We would not have been lovers otherwise and now what we have in common is how much we've lost." She smiled wryly. "There are too many ghosts between us; we would look at each other and see only what we no longer have. I am afraid we would only bring each other pain."

She looked at him then and Al, sensing her gaze, closed the album and looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "I am glad you're with him. I'm glad you're taking care of him. He needs someone, and I can't be that for him, not with our history. He needs to start over, to begin again, to be reminded that there is more to life than what he has lost." She gave him a quick, almost nervous smile, and Al could feel something twisting in him, almost sure he knew Gracia's next words. "But be careful, Alphonse. Roy has a reputation for being an easy lover, someone who leaves almost before he arrives, but that is as much of a ruse as Maes' carelessness was. When Roy falls in love, he doesn't let go easily."

Al sat back, shaking his head, about to tell her it was nothing like that. He was taking care of Roy and certainly he cared for the older man -- they were friends, after all -- but it was nothing more than that. Friendship and caring.

"If he falls for you, be sure you know what you're getting into. You can't play with him and then leave when you decide you want something else. Love is a very serious thing to Roy."

"Gracia, I'm not -- we're not --"

"Just be careful, Al," she said, a sad kind of smile crossing her features. "Love has a way of sneaking up on you sometimes." 


	2. Aches a Little

Al walked into the house still lost in thought, barely remembering to hang his coat on the coat hook inside the front door. He paused in the kitchen to set down the apple pie Gracia had sent home with him and then wandered out onto the back patio where Roy sat having coffee with Havoc.

Though Havoc had regained most of the use of his legs, he still had difficulty walking or standing for extended stretches, and Al realized with a start that the former sniper probably had more understanding of Roy right now than anyone. Roy's two canes -- he refused to use a wheel chair except in times of utter necessity -- rested against his chair, reminding Al sharply that the man's injury was still unhealed. The doctor had told them that, aside from a medical miracle, Roy would always need some kind of support.

Roy looked up and gave him what wasn't quite a smile but passed as a friendly acknowledgment, and Havoc turned in his chair to see who had joined them.

"Hey, little boss," he said, grinning, his fingers twitching restlessly on the table, a toothpick lolling in his mouth. The Xing alchemist who was giving Havoc experimental treatment to try to completely heal his legs had absolutely forbidden cigarettes, saying they worked against all the healing the alchemy was doing. It was rough going, but Havoc was trying valiantly. Of course, he had a new source of support that likely helped with that.

"Hello, Jean," Al smiled as he sank into the third chair at the table, closer to Havoc so he could keep more of an eye on Roy. He tried not to blush as he looked at the man he was taking care of, Gracia's revelations and warnings still ringing fresh in his head. "How's Maria?"

The color that spread across Havoc's cheekbones was telling, but the smile that tugged at his lips was even more so and Al chuckled. Even Roy quirked a half-smile.

"She's doin' good," Havoc muttered, his index finger tapping a quick staccato of nervous energy. After the revolution, Ross and Havoc had come back from Xing to testify at Roy's trial in Mustang's defense alongside Ed and Al. Al still remembered seeing the tears that stood in Maria's eyes as she gave a testimony of the strength of Roy's character and the depth of his honor, knowing that if Roy was condemned her testimony would damn her to a similar fate. Fortunately for everyone, Roy was acquitted under heavy pressure from a few prominent names, not the least of which was Edward Elric, alchemist of the people, and his caring-to-a-fault little brother.

That had been almost three years ago, though, and the suspicions Al had begun to form at Mustang's trial, seeing the way Havoc and Ross supported one another, had been confirmed a few times over.

"Have you set a date yet?" Roy asked, surprising Al with the lightness of his tone. Alphonse watched the man carefully, wondering if he was only imagining the bittersweet tint to his expression. He suspected Roy had been planning to marry Riza before... well, before.

Havoc faltered a little, then grinned and shook his head. "Not exactly. We've been talking about it, though. Got it narrowed down to maybe sometime next year in the fall, when it's pretty."

Al wondered at this for a moment, knowing that the pair had been talking about this subject for quite some time -- in plenty of time to have been married this fall, as a matter of fact -- before he remembered that just about the time they'd been reaching an agreement, Riza had been hospitalized. He cringed inwardly. Tragedy never did have any sense of timing.

Roy's sharp mind had apparently traveled similar paths, as he was suddenly grim, his face looking older than it should. "I think I should be getting inside," he said, his voice a bit distant, and distress shone clearly in Havoc's blue eyes.

Al caught the sniper's gaze and shook his head softly, both to assure the man it wasn't his fault and to signal him not to say anything further on the matter.

"It's about time I was getting home, too," Havoc agreed, pushing himself to his feet and steadying himself briefly on the table. Roy did the same, but despite both his canes, he was still unsteady. Al was at his side in an instant, arm resting lightly around his waist, holding him up. Havoc walked slowly, his own cane tapping gently against the stones of the patio, and Roy snorted.

"I didn't think we'd be doing this until we were eighty, Havoc," he joked as he leaned against Al for support. "We walk like men over twice our age."

Havoc chuckled, rolling his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "I heard somewhere, chief, that it's not the age -- it's the mileage."

Roy grinned a little, pausing as he and Al had to change positions briefly to get both of them through the door and into the house. "Well we both have plenty of miles on us, that's for sure."

Al helped Roy a chair at the kitchen table. "I'll see you out, Jean," he said to the other man, but the sniper shook his head.

"I'll be fine, but thanks," he grinned. "You take care of the chief." 

Al felt his cheeks pinking and began fervently wishing Gracia hadn't said things that made him hear that in a different light. He pushed the thought aside and just nodded. "You don't have to worry about that," he assured Havoc, confident that he could at least say that with all conviction. Roy needed him; he'd be there.

"Goodbye, Havoc. Thank you." Roy's words were oddly formal and Al shot him a confused look. The man was sitting stiffly at the table, his injured leg stretched out in front of him, and Al thought he could see the strain on Roy's face. Havoc apparently noticed too, but he only nodded and lifted his hand in a wave as he let himself out, seeing that Roy had reached the end of his energy for entertaining.

When the door had closed behind Havoc, Roy let out a sigh and Al could tell he relaxed, just a little. He knew Mustang hated appearing weak in front of those he had once sworn to protect and thought that might be another reason Gracia was hesitant to come see him while his recovery was still an uphill battle. It had taken him long enough to relax in front of Al but, considering their arrangement, it had been inevitable.

"Hurts?" Al asked quietly, going to the cabinet to look for Roy's painkillers.

Roy nodded, grimacing. "Just stiff, mostly. Aches, a little." 

Al knew that probably meant the pain was almost unbearable and frowned as he shook out the dosage of pills into his palm. He set them along with a glass of water in front of Roy, then retrieved the card and photos Gracia had sent home with him. Roy took the medicine and then looked at the handmade paper card in momentary confusion.

"Elicia made that," Al said with a smile. "Gracia sent some of the most recent pictures of her, too."

Roy nodded before picking up the card. "Had you looking through the photo albums, did she?" Al faltered but Roy didn't seem to notice, so he just answered in the affirmative. Al noticed that Roy's hands trembled slightly as he opened the card. Al averted his eyes, giving the man some semblance of privacy. He busied himself with cutting the apple pie into slices and pulled out a couple of plates and forks. He didn't know if Roy would want a piece, but _he_ certainly did. 

As Al was sliding a slice of pie onto one of the plates, he heard Roy chuckle softly behind him and glanced over his shoulder. Mustang was looking at one of the photographs, fondness evident in his expression. "She looks so much like Gracia, you almost can't see Maes in her at all," he murmured, then flipped the picture around to show Al what he meant.

It was the photo Al had noticed framed on the mantlepiece, the one with the butterfly, and he smiled as he nodded. "She does favor Gracia, doesn't she?"

Al came to the table and set one piece of pie down in front of Roy, taking the other for himself. Wordlessly, Roy pushed the card to Al's side of the table so the younger man could see what Elicia had drawn. On the front of the crookedly-folded card was a sad face above a big red heart, and then below that, a smiling face. He opened the card and read in Elicia's large, awkward child-lettering, "Feel better Uncle Roy. XO, Elicia."

He couldn't help the smile that crossed his mouth and he set the card back down. "That's very sweet," he murmured, and Roy nodded as he took a bite of his pie. Al shoveled a good half of his piece into his mouth on the first bite, and Roy shot him an amused glance. If Al noticed, he didn't react, just savored the dessert in his mouth. He wouldn't go so far as to say that Gracia's apple pie was the best part about being human again, but it was damn close.

Roy managed to take three bites before his fork clattered to his plate and he pushed himself abruptly to his feet, arms shaking as he supported himself on his canes.

"Roy?" Al asked, already half-standing, concern evident in his face and voice.

"It's all right, Alphonse," Roy answered, though his tone was strained. "I just want to lie down on the couch. I'll be all right."

That was Al's cue not to help the man unless it became necessary, and Al settled back into his chair uneasily. He watched as Roy made his way slowly to the living room and lowered himself to the sofa, the angle of the doorway hiding all but the top of his dark head from Al's view.

Al turned back to his pie, the treat suddenly tasteless in his mouth. He thought he could put together the pieces to decipher what had disturbed Roy so badly -- the pictures of Elicia and the card combined with what was probably a very familiar taste to him... it had probably dredged up a lot of memories that were just too painful for him right now. Gracia had been right not to visit, Al realized. She knew Roy better than perhaps Al had given her credit for at first. The pie was hard to swallow and Al got to his feet shakily, taking the dishes to the kitchen counter. He'd take care of cleaning them later; Roy couldn't stand long enough to do things like cooking and washing dishes yet.

He headed toward his room, right across the hall from Mustang's, pausing in the doorway of the living room to tell Roy, "I'll be reading in my room if you need me."

Roy barely nodded, making an acknowledging sound, and Al climbed the stairs, his mind in a whirl. He couldn't help wondering if Gracia, with her obvious knowledge of Roy, would be proven right in her other predictions as well. He didn't know how he felt about that. 


	3. Woke from Dreaming

The sun felt warm on his bare skin, the cool spring breeze raising gooseflesh in its wake, and the girl in his arms was soft and pretty.

"Al, are you sure we're not --" Paninya began anxiously, looking back the way they'd come though they were far enough out that the old farmhouse wasn't visible.

"It's fine," Al interrupted with a laugh, his fingers skipping up her arm. "I promise you, no one is going to be looking for us. Besides, Winry's practically holding Ed captive right now. She's trying to perfect a new recipe." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, letting his fingertips trail down her spine. He could feel the irregularities of the terrain beneath the soft quilt they lay on and shifted a little to take the pressure off his hip. The movement had the happy fortune of bringing his body closer to his girlfriend's and he decided that the offending lump of earth might just be his favorite feature of Resembool at the moment. "You hardly ever get to come out here; we might as well enjoy the day."

Paninya grinned through a vivid blush and let her hand slide into his hair. He noticed she kept her legs away from him; even after all this time, she betrayed hints of insecurity about the automail during intimacy. She appreciated it in all other areas of her life, but she'd once expressed a concern that she might accidentally hurt him with the pinching joints or the hard edges. Determined to distract her from that, he levered himself over her, trapping her between his arms, and set about his pleasurable task with caresses meant to tickle as much as arouse.

He stopped, alarmed, when her quiet laughter shifted to moans that weren't at all happy, and pulled back. "Paninya?"

Her face twisted in distress and he felt rather than saw the landscape around them go dark when she whimpered "No," and pushed weakly at his shoulder.

"Ninya, what's wrong?"

A shattering sound jolted him upright, stripping the dream from him and leaving only ragged edges of sensation behind. He looked around, disoriented, his mind struggling to catch up to his body as he scrambled to remember where he was and why he was there. A loud moan from the room across the hall helped him put the puzzle pieces together and he stumbled out of the bed, annoyed when the sheets tangled around his legs, slowing him for a moment.

He staggered across the hall into Roy's room, his brow furrowing with distress when he saw that Roy had managed to kick off all his blankets and was tangled in his sheets, a sheen of sweat coating the man's body. There were shards of glass on the floor from where he'd knocked his water glass off the night stand and Al made sure to stand clear.

Roy's nightmares had become less frequent lately but he'd had them often enough in the beginning that Al knew exactly how to handle them. He frowned as he took in the state of Roy's bed and the way his hair was plastered against his head with perspiration. This was a bad one, but it was anybody's guess as to which of Roy's ghosts was haunting him now. The man had a whole graveyard living in his head.

"Roy," Al called, his tone almost conversational, standing a good distance away. Sometimes Roy came up swinging. "Roy, it's okay. You're asleep. You're dreaming. Wake up, Roy." The man tossed his head, grunting, and his limbs jerked. Al's eyes flickered down to his injured leg, checking to make sure he wasn't in danger of hitting it against anything. "Roy," he called more firmly. "It's Alphonse. I'm here. It's okay. You need to wake up now."

There was a sharp intake of breath and midnight-dark eyes shot open, but Roy didn't move other than that and Al wasn't sure the man was actually awake. "Roy?"

Mustang turned his head slowly and Al barely kept himself from recoiling at the raw terror in his eyes. The man fairly stank of fear.

"...Alphonse?" His voice was a hoarse parody of itself and Al nodded, reaching behind himself to pull up the wooden chair they'd started keeping in Roy's room for just these occasions, perching his bare feet on the lower rung to avoid the glass. "Was dreaming," Roy said as if it weren't obvious, scrubbing his hand over his face as if he could wipe away the residue of the night images. Al didn't say what he thought, that it wouldn't be nearly so bad if they were only dreams and not memories.

"You okay?" he asked instead.

Roy frowned but didn't look at him as he answered, a note of embarrassment in his voice. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm sorry to have woken you; I won't keep you up."

"I don't mind," Al said, valiantly fighting back a yawn as he leaned back in the chair. "I'll stay until you go back to sleep." They both knew that once the nightmares had Roy, they didn't like to give him up. He was likely to have another one as soon as he fell asleep again. Roy nodded, a jerky tilt of his chin, and Al frowned as he leaned over to pick the blankets up off the floor, careful to keep his feet away from the glass. He helped Mustang pull them back over his body, sure he could detect a hint of an angry flush to Roy's complexion even in the darkness. He knew the man hated his weakness, hated having to be helped.

As soon as he thought Roy could handle it, Al let go of the blankets and settled back awkwardly. He could read the tension in Roy's body even under the covers, and he cast about for something he could talk about that might help take Mustang's mind off whatever had been tormenting him.

"I was dreaming about Paninya," Al began conversationally, ignoring the way Roy stiffened with guilt at the reminder that he'd woken Al. "It's kind of odd. I was dreaming about back when we were still together, this one time she came to Resembool a couple of years ago. I haven't thought about that in a long time." He smiled a little, careful not to look at Roy, to give the man time to reassemble a bit of his dignity. "I mean, we're friends now, but I haven't thought about her in _that_ way in a while. She liked Resembool. I think you kind of can't help liking it -- it's so peaceful, all the forests and meadows. You just kind of feel hidden all the way out there."

"Do you ever miss it?" Roy asked, fidgeting a little.

"Well, in some ways. I mean, Central's nice, and this is a nice location, on the outskirts. I like it better here than I do downtown Central; I like having the woods out back, the little stream. You've even got room for a garden if you wanted one. But we're still close enough to the city that it doesn't take all day to go to the market to pick up something for dinner." Al shrugged. "Do you ever miss Eastern?"

Roy seemed a little surprised at having the question turned back on him, but Al could tell the man was beginning to relax. Conversation seemed to help. "The East holds a special place in my heart," he answered, something deep to his tone. Al smiled, remembering that it had been the troops from Eastern -- those rural "country bumpkins" that the fuhrer had deemed a non-threat and practically exiled -- who had made the infamous overthrow possible. It was because of them that Amestris was now a democracy.

"Still," Roy continued, a note of amusement entering his voice, "I'm not sure I could say I _miss_ it, exactly. Like you said, it's nice living close to the city."

Al gave a short laugh as a memory surfaced of one of the many times he and Ed had gone to headquarters to make a report while Roy was stationed in Eastern, and he began, "Do you remember the time when you sent Ed to check on the rumors of illegal transmutations in ... oh, what was that town's name? ... anyway, you know, with the farmer who said his geese were laying golden eggs?"

Roy chuckled and nodded. "I do think I remember something like that, yes. What happened, again?"

Al launched into his odd bedtime story and watched Roy begin to drift off again, the steady cadence of Al's voice lulling him back to sleep. Al let his volume fade gradually until he'd trailed off and Roy's deep, even breathing was the only sound in the room. Al stayed where he was, watching Roy for signs of returning nightmares. He hoped he'd managed to get Mustang's mind onto different tracks, but he wasn't going to take a chance. Just when he was starting to think they were home free, Roy's brow furrowed and a small whine worked out of his throat.

Al reached out and brushed Roy's bangs away from his face, letting his fingers smooth over the skin of his forehead and temples, hoping the touch would soothe him, ground him, and chase away the dreams before they had him completely in their grasp. Sure enough, Roy relaxed almost immediately and Al sighed with relief. Still, he kept up his light petting, almost afraid to take his hand away lest the monsters of Roy's subconscious return. He yawned, mentally bargaining with himself to stay up just a little while longer, but before he quite realized it, his tiredness overtook him and he slept, slouched in the wooden chair, his hand still resting on Roy's head like an amulet to ward off the past.

* * *

Al woke to a stiffness in his neck and shoulders and groaned as he tried to sit up, his lower back protesting, only to realize he was already sitting up. There was a warm weight in his hand and he opened his eyes, blinking blearily to see that he was cradling Roy's head in his palm, the man having turned his face to lean into the touch. His memory slowly returned and he gently attempted to get his hand back, feeling pins and needles from the appendage all the way up his arm. He bit his lip and winced, then began to uncurl from the chair, remembering at the last second the pieces of glass below him.

He turned and twisted until he could get out of the chair, his legs every bit as unwilling to move as his back had been, and grimaced as he limped his first few steps out of the room. His bladder demanded attention before anything else could be taken care of, but after that, he made a trip down to the kitchen for the dustpan and broom and headed back up to Roy's room. The glass needed to be cleaned up before Roy awoke and accidentally put his feet down in it.

As he was finishing, standing with the dustpan full of glassy splinters in his hand, he noticed that Roy was awake and watching him.

"Thank you," Roy rasped, his eyes flickering to the chair that was still close to the bed. "Did you spend the night here?"

Al knew the man well enough by now to recognize the subtle note of distress in Roy's voice and smiled. "Didn't mean to, exactly, but yes, I did." He shrugged. "I'm going to get started on breakfast. Call me if you need any help." He knew that brushing over the situation helped Roy sometimes, and he didn't wait for a response before he headed downstairs to do just what he'd said.

He had the beginnings of a stack of pancakes on a plate -- no matter what Roy's appetite looked like this morning, Al was sure he could finish them off himself with no problem -- and was thinking about starting to fry some bacon when he heard the slow, heavy thump of Roy's step on the stairs, accented by the sound of the canes. He paused, looking toward the doorway, holding his breath to hear better in case Mustang needed help.

It wasn't long before the man came shuffling through the door and sank wearily into the nearest chair, leaning his canes against the wall. Al bit his lip thoughtfully as he flipped the pancake in the skillet.

"Maybe," he started uncertainly, "Maybe we should set up a bed downstairs for a little while. I could sleep on the couch. But that way you wouldn't have to --"

"No," Roy interrupted flatly. "Thank you, Alphonse, but no." At Al's evaluating look, he continued, "I have lost too much to voluntarily give up any more. It would only be an excuse for laziness. Rather than conserve my strength, it would rob me of it."

Al nodded, seeing Roy's point, and smiled a little to himself. It was true Mustang had been struck down severely but moments like these, when the man he remembered was clearly visible amidst the emotional rubble, gave him hope. He slid the pancake onto a plate, wondering briefly what the warm sensation in his chest was. Pride? Possibly. Admiration? That, too. Or maybe he was just standing too close to the stove, he chuckled.

He set the first plate, with three pancakes on it, in front of Roy along with silverware, the butter dish, and a jar of syrup. Roy looked ready to wait until Al had his own breakfast but Al gestured to the plate.

"Go ahead and eat before they get too cold to melt the butter," he said. "I've still got plenty to go, and there's bacon coming, too."

Roy nodded, putting little scoops of butter on the pancakes and pushing it around to make it melt faster. "I've noticed, Alphonse," he said without looking up, "That you never ask me what my nightmares are."

Al faltered, surprised at the non sequitur, and glanced at Roy before he poured more batter into the skillet. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" he asked quietly. "What they are, I mean. I know what they do to you." He frowned as he watched the batter, waiting for the little bubbles in the top that would let him know the bottom was cooked and ready to be flipped over. "Dreams are deeply private. I wouldn't ask you to tell me."

"And yet you told me yours with hardly a second thought," Roy pointed out in a tone of voice that let Al know he wasn't going to give this up. Still, Al just shrugged.

"You needed something that wasn't bad," he answered, still not looking at Roy. "I didn't mind sharing." He pushed the spatula underneath the pancake, testing its doneness. A few more seconds and it would be ready.

When Al had flipped the pancake and Roy still hadn't said anything, he chanced a glance over his shoulder to see the man staring at Al's back, his breakfast untouched in front of him. Before he could ask what was wrong, though, Roy simply said, "Thank you," and cut into his pancakes.

"You're welcome," Al said just as seriously, then turned back to his cooking with the strange feeling that something was beginning to shift. 


	4. Early Morning Roses

As a note of interest (or not), the title of this chapter was actually the original title of the story. This because all the scenes that the boys told me about early on tied into Roy's roses and all seemed to take place in the morning with the dew still on the ground. I was vaguely horrified by the title and told my muses I wasn't going to take them seriously until they came up with something that sounded less like it would be published by Harlequin and more like something I wouldn't be ashamed of. I wonder, sometimes, if there was something deliberate in the fact that the next title they suggested goes by the initials "SOB."

* * *

Al stared into the fire, the slightly bitter aftertaste of red wine lingering against his tongue, book open and forgotten in his lap. On the sofa across from Al, with his bad leg stretched out over the cushions and a book in his lap, Roy glanced at him over the rims of his reading glasses.

"Alphonse?"

The murmur was all but lost in the crackling of the firewood and Al knew he could ignore it without repercussion, but his eyes flicked over to his companion, inviting him to continue.

"You look preoccupied. Is everything all right?"

Al couldn't help but smile at Roy's concern, expressed so seriously in that deep, rumbling voice. The wine and the warmth of the fire had lulled him into a contemplative mood touched with whimsy and he couldn't help thinking that the sound of Roy's voice made him feel _safe._ It was an odd thought, one that he didn't feel like examining too closely, but he accepted the truth of it.

He became aware that Roy was still watching him, expecting an answer, and hummed softly in response. "Yes, thank you," he said. "I was just thinking."

There was silence for a moment but Roy didn't return his attention to the book he had propped on his thighs, instead watching Al, still over the edge of his glasses. Al had the fleeting thought that the spectacles looked good on the man but was distracted by bittersweet memories of another man in glasses they'd both known. Sympathy for Roy mixed with his own sorrow. He couldn't imagine what it must be like to lose two lovers so close together. He hoped he would never have to know.

"Were the thoughts private or shareable?" Roy asked quietly and Al started a little as he realized that Roy seemed to be begging conversation as a hungry boy might beg bread. He hadn't thought of the loneliness that must creep in even when the violence of loss was mostly quiet. He held his place in the book with his finger as he allowed it to fall closed, signaling the turning of his attention to Mustang.

"They're not private but I'm afraid they weren't terribly interesting either," Al smiled. "I was mostly drifting, thinking of things that need to be done tomorrow."

"That reminds me," Roy began, sounding hesitant as he slid a ribbon into his own text and closing it. Al's eyebrows arched at the tone. "Your brother called while you were in town. He said he's coming in tomorrow and he wants to see you."

Al got the distinct feeling that Roy was avoiding some detail or another but another thought took precedence. "You have a doctor's appointment tomorrow." He loved his brother and he hadn't seen him in several weeks – Ed had moved back to Resembool a couple of months ago while Al had chosen to stay in Central to take care of Roy – but he had responsibilities.

Roy's brow creased and he shook his head. "It's all right, I already took care of that. Someone else will drive me. You need to see Edward."

Al wondered at the brief curl of protest in his chest as if he took umbrage at one part of that or another. He didn't resent spending the day with his brother but he thought he might dislike being ordered around in such a fashion. He was used to taking care of daily household matters; he'd been doing it for eleven months now. Having the tables turned on him, having his plans made for him, didn't sit well.

Still, there wasn't anything he could really argue with. He did want to see Edward to learn how things were going back home if nothing else. He only hoped he could keep his brother from asking him yet again why he couldn't let someone else – a professional home nurse, for example – take care of Roy so Al could move back to Resembool. He couldn't seem to get it through Ed's head that he couldn't stomach doing that to Roy. Mustang had lost almost everything dear and familiar to him; Al hated the thought of leaving his care to a total stranger.

He took a sip of wine to cover his lingering annoyance with the sudden change of plans and asked casually, "Who's driving you?"

"Fuery," Roy answered, a spark of fondness in his eyes. Al had noticed that the man had become almost sentimental about his former subordinates. It wasn't anything new but this time he felt another bitter twist in his stomach and wondered at it. Maybe he'd had too much wine and it was disagreeing with him.

"Did Ed say what time he'd be here?"

"His train arrives at eleven. Fuery and I can drop you at the station if you'd like, or you can hire a taxi." Roy set his book aside, fingering the stem of his own wine glass. Al noticed again Roy's uneasiness and wondered at it, but his mind was fuzzy from the drink and he didn't feel like trying to figure it out.

Al nodded. "I'll probably take a taxi," he said. "The train station isn't anywhere near your doctor's office; there's no reason you should go out of your way." He wondered if he sounded as sulky as he thought he did and frowned. What was wrong with him anyway?

Apparently his emotions were bleeding through, at least enough that Roy noticed, as the other man studied him quizzically for a moment. He got the feeling Mustang wanted to ask him what was wrong but the question never came. Al was grateful; he didn't have an answer.

"It's getting late, Alphonse," Roy finally said, searching around for his canes and getting to his feet. "I think I'll retire for the night." Al had noticed Roy was relying more on just one cane lately and thought the doctor might tell him that he could do away with the second one. He felt ever so slightly cheated that he wouldn't be there to hear the news himself and shook himself mentally. The wine had definitely put him in an odd frame of mind. Maybe tomorrow he'd be more excited about seeing Ed again and less annoyed at having his routine interrupted.

He nodded, feeling bad for having not been a good conversation partner for his friend. "Do you need any help?" He knew the answer would be the same as it had been for months, but he always asked anyway. When Roy shook his head, Al leaned back in the armchair, picking at the corner of his book. "I'll clean up before I go to bed," he said, indicating the wine bottle and Roy's glass. He could tell Roy had been trying to figure out how to carry the glass into the kitchen despite having both hands taken up by the canes. Al appreciated the gesture but knew it wasn't feasible. He'd be cleaning up broken glass.

"Good night, Alphonse," Roy murmured as he passed the younger man on the way to the stairs.

"Good night," Al answered absently, his attention already turning inward again. Alphonse sat up late into the night, staring into the fire. He didn't go to bed until all that was left was embers and ash and the lingering smell of smoke.

* * *

Al bit back another yawn - his third in as many minutes - and Ed looked at him strangely. Al thought wryly that something was definitely wrong with him when even _Ed_ was noticing. He'd awakened early that morning -- he never slept well when he'd had too much wine; it made him restless and uneasy even in his sleep -- with scratchy eyes and a dry mouth. The things that happened afterward had been keeping him preoccupied the entire time he'd been with Ed and he had to keep bringing himself back to the present.

"You okay, Al?" Ed asked, looking uncomfortable with the very question. The sound of Ed's boot scuffing the floor underneath their table brought a smile to Al's face. His brother had never been one for sitting still, especially when there were personal issues afoot.

"I'm fine," Al assured him. "Just didn't sleep very well last night."

Ed's expression sharpened as he leaned in, golden bangs falling into his tawny eyes. "Mustang?"

Just after Roy's release from the hospital, Ed had stayed with Al, helping care for the man. They'd found out early on that in order to keep the peace, Ed needed to stay out of Mustang's sight, taking care of other things to make it easier for Al. Ed lacked a certain gentleness to his manner that Alphonse possessed in spades, so the younger was left to deal directly with the injured man. However, Ed had been woken by Roy's nightmares as often as Al -- if only because Al shook him awake -- and knew how tiring the day after a particularly bad night could be.

Al shook his head. "No, he only has nightmares every few weeks now." He shrugged. "I don't know what was wrong." It wasn't exactly a lie but it wasn't the whole truth either. His hands shook as he remembered the revelation he'd had that morning and he curled his fingers around his teacup to disguise the tremor.

He'd shuffled downstairs to find water and the mild painkiller herbs in the back of the cabinet and had glanced out the glass doors at the rosebush they'd planted a week and a half earlier. There was a flawless bud opening in the sunlight, the fruit of an array Roy had designed with Al's help, and he'd gone outside to see it as if drawn by an invisible hand. It was perhaps the most perfect rose he'd ever seen but at the rate it was opening, there was a good chance it would have dropped all its petals by the time Roy saw it. There were still some things to be tweaked in their alchemical theory.

Carefully, he'd cut the rose from the stalk and carried it inside. A tiny glass made a fine vase but the flower was still opening too quickly to leave it where it was. It hadn't taken long to make some toast and tea and put it on a tray that he took up to Roy's room.

"Breakfast in bed?" Roy had asked blearily as he sat up, blinking. "Why?"

Al had gestured to the flower and Roy had come to full awareness in the space of two blinks. "Is that from our rosebush?" Wonder and delight spread over Roy's face as unguarded as a young child's, and Al's heart had flipped in his chest. He'd had the sudden urge to push his fingers into Roy's hair, to cup his head and give him the kind of giddy kiss he used to share with Paninya. He'd been so alarmed by the realization of this impulse that he'd fled the room, muttering some excuse about the bathroom or the stove or something. He desperately hoped he hadn't muddled them together.

He hadn't seen Roy again before the taxi had taken him to the station to meet Ed, but his mind had been spinning ever since. He'd realized that had been why he'd felt out of sorts the night before; he'd actually been _jealous._ Jealous that someone else was taking care of Roy, that he was being replaced, as it were. He'd realized, too, that this feeling of possessiveness wasn't a new development. What, exactly, to do with it was another matter. Roy had never given him any indication that the emotions were mutual.

"Al?" Ed's voice pulled him out of his reverie and he started guiltily.

"Sorry," he muttered, ducking his head and taking a long sip of his tea that had cooled considerably while they'd been sitting at the table outside the cafe. "Drifted off."

"I'll say." Ed sounded particularly sulky and Al looked at him closely, picking up something he hadn't noticed before in his preoccupation.

"Brother?" he drawled with that peculiar tone meant to draw out whatever secrets Ed was doing such a poor job of hiding.

"What?" The sulk was even more pronounced and Al sat back in his chair with a wide grin. Oh, yes, it was a juicy secret indeed.

"Do you have something to tell me?" 

Ed fidgeted, pushing a few lonely crumbs around on his empty plate. "About what?"

Al very nearly laughed. "Well, you would be the one to know that."

Ed cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his chair. Al could tell it was torturing him not to be up and pacing about. "I, um..." He coughed again, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "Aw, hell, Al. Winry's gonna kill me." Al's eyebrows shot up but he didn't give an inch, keeping his gaze fixed on his brother. "I, um... we're... dammit. Winry and I are getting married."

Al stood so quickly he nearly toppled his chair. "That -- that's -- congratulations, Brother!" He darted around the table and pulled Ed onto his feet so he could embrace him enthusiastically. "When?"

"At the end of summer," Ed said, grinning sheepishly as color flooded his cheeks. "Winry wanted to tell you, too, but she couldn't leave Resembool and I wanted you to know in time to come back for the wedding." He tilted his head. "You know, by then, you could probably come home for good. There's enough room out there you could build a house not far from ours."

Al's expression plunged into sudden seriousness. While he loved his brother and Winry, the thought of living as an extension of them held no appeal. He wanted his own life, whatever that might entail, and they deserved to have their own lives, too. In that moment, he acknowledged that he had already been building a new life and that Roy Mustang had insinuated himself as a large part of it. With things the way they were, he couldn't see himself leaving Central. Even if nothing happened with Roy, even if these new feelings were just temporary insanity and faded before anything came of them, his life was here, at least for now. He shook his head. "I don't think so, Ed. Not right now."

Ed's expression fell just a little, though he hid it quickly, and Al clapped him on the shoulder, sending him a bright grin. "I think I'd rather be kept awake by Roy's nightmares than by hearing you and Winry finally going at it."

Ed turned bright red all the way to the roots of his hair. "AL!" he protested, and Al laughed, throwing his head back.

"You know there's years of unresolved sexual tension there. I doubt Resembool will survive the impact." The sparkle in Al's eyes was positively devilish, and Ed ducked his head and muttered so quietly Al almost missed it.

"Not unresolved anymore."

Al nearly crowed. "It's about damn time!" 

Ed shushed him then looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to them. Payback, Al thought gleefully, for all the times Ed embarrassed him in public. "Keep it down, you idiot," Ed grumbled. "I don't really want news of... of... anyway, all of Central doesn't need to hear it." Al bit back a remark about Ed being remarkably repressed for a man who was about to be married, and Ed looked at him from under his bangs. "You are coming to the wedding, though?"

Al's smile softened. "You know I wouldn't miss it for the world." 


End file.
